BUNSNUB: Another Love Story Ch. 09

Chapter Nine: OOOuuch!

"There it is," the secretary said to whomever it was. I saw a deeply tanned, long fingered hand reach for the end of my leash and slip it free of the hook. I turned as the tug pulled and caught a glimpse of a lady as she rolled the leash into her hand. She cinched it close and took me by a very short length. I caught another glimpse of her before she disappeared under my collar. She looked to be about thirty; she had ultra-bleach-blond hair, large deep blue eyes and obviously worshipped the sun. She was totally unconcerned about me and went for the door without looking at me twice.

My new uniform drew more than its share of gawkers and overly heated comments. It wasn't difficult to tell that their numbers were increasing, along with the overt actions and nasty expressions. The comments suggested I looked extremely amusing today, which drove a small portion of my ego to attempt rebellion. Part of me wanted to stop everything cold, it had had enough. Part of me wanted my hands to intervene, to finally resist any further humiliation.

But my hands simply hovered in the air beside me, palms down, fingers wide. They refused every request for intervention, even as the body struggled, skewered from both ends. My arms went up in the air and pulled in tight as I toppled forward on my toes, but my hands never interceded on the body's behalf. Though I needed to keep jumping from one big toe to the other, while struggling in adjustment to the harness, my hands did little else then slap my own thighs in resignation. They never moved in defense, in defiance, or simply to insulate. Fortunately I was slowly learning to ride the tip of the long needle as it twisted, twitched and drilled into me. The point of that stem would have me bouncing into the air and wiggling like an eel all day. It would keep me on my toes, dancing erotically and I realized the sensation would take a lot of getting use to. My escort used the leash to hold me up and keep me moving forward in tiny jerks. The women who spotted me couldn't decide on which they preferred, my butt plug or penis splint. They all loved the ball gag and the consensus was I should never be without it. I dreaded the thought.

I was led on a humiliating journey through the building, to more than a dozen different floors in a random fashion. On each one, I was pulled from the elevator and paraded down a hallway or two and through offices of many sizes. Whether heading through large rooms lined with desks, labs with counters, or shops with drafting tables, my guide always stopped near a water cooler to chat. Immediately I was swarmed by women, who came to do more than just look. I found myself slapped and pinched, even kicked and spit upon. But at other times I was petted, stroked, and teased to the brink of an ejaculation I danced for lewdly. That always incurred a roar of laughter. I was belittled verbally, constantly debased and my body physically violated. By the end of this tour I was so mixed up and out of my mind, out of control with arousal, I only vaguely remember my guide slapping me into consciousness. She seemed suddenly very concerned about my awareness and helped me regain it quickly. She waited for me to come around fully, for me to land on earth again. I spotted a fool in the corner of my eye and looked up to see some clown's reflection in a stainless steel wall.

I didn't recognize the wiggling body standing before me, but it made me smile. I couldn't make out the figure twitching in the air on its toes, and I almost made to laugh. I took its glistening spit laden body, all blotchy from slaps and belt whippings, to be that of a circus performer. He had his balls hanging through a ring, his cock in harness and he was controlled by a lovely ringmaster. She held the reins and she kept him taut, in a severe manner. He danced for her and fluttered like a graceful insect I found most interesting. I dipped my collar to see who it might be, I blinked my eyes to press away the moisture and focus. Then I turned away as if remembering my darkest secret for the first time, mortified by the notion of what I thought I had seen. I had no other choice but to take another peek. I turned away in shame... It was me.

We were outside a door that looked like any other, and my guide had brought me back to my senses. She had been screaming in my face and reminding me to behave, while accenting her words with well-placed slaps. She warned me not to fail this test or I'd be released immediately and that meant right there and then. She informed me I would be walked to the main door and thrown out as I was. While that sunk in, she gave me the end of the leash to hold and straightened her own clothing.

Riding on the stem's point was getting easier, the tip had settled in somewhere and I needed to dance less. It was now more an ache that bent me over intermittently and kept my entire body shivering. Once more aware, I looked around the strangely barren hallway and then at the door. It wasn't the same. It was unlike any of the others, completely different. What happened to the marble and wood? We now stood in a stone stairwell facing a big steel door and I began fretting about the other side. Moments like these were meant to frighten. I increased my gnawing on both pieces of rubber and started shaking to a very cold prospect. I bounced my fingers on my hips in nervousness and my guide slapped at my girded boner in reprisal. I was allowed to dance in place only and without moving my hands. After my escort had reapplied a bit of lipstick and brushed her hair, she must have felt right, because she snatched the leash from me, looked me in the eye and laughed. She took a short hold of the leather, working her hand to the ring and pulled me close. She corrected both our postures, brought me up on my two big toes and turned the doorknob.

She pushed the door open and yanked me into the building's main lobby before I realized what happened. There, directly in front of me, behind the black marble desk, was the blond receptionist and several friends. They all looked at me with stunned expressions that quickly turned to giggling. The door slammed shut and the place went quiet. The lobby was jammed with hundreds of well dressed business women standing around staring and no doubt, talking about me. I flushed with hot pink, became very dizzy and almost passed out, but a yank kept me conscious. The look on the receptionist's face brought a shame I could barely swallow, even as it was forced down my throat. At that moment, mortification hit me like a forty-five slug and ripped me open. My fingers clutched at my thighs and I turned redder and redder and redder, while reduced to tears. I didn't know which way to turn, but I needed to turn somewhere and my dance became agitated. My attendant turned her head with a warning.

"Decide now boy! Disobey and like I said, I'll let you go here and now. You'll be escorted to those doors and thrown out into the street," she whispered, pointing to the city through the large glass panes. "Ms. Handlesmen will find another. You will not be allowed upstairs again and your clothes will be mailed to you. So! I'm getting tired of this, what will it be," she continued with a tug I obediently followed.

The lobby was mobbed and the murmuring became a rumble. I sent my eyes aloft, to stare at the ceiling, while guided through a virtual maze of business women. These ruffians thought nothing of poking me with things, jabbing and making fun. This was truly the most humiliating moment of my entire life and I almost felt as if I were in the street. I wondered if that was next and if I could survive it, would survive it. The reflection in the ceiling was of a great many females, important figures I'm sure, to the business world. It seemed as if they were gathered for a particular reason, a grand opening of sorts. Champagne was being served by roving waitresses and to one side of the lobby were several tables piled high with brochures. The weight of this event magnified every comment and leer I couldn't elude. When I wiggled in adjustment to my stem and plug, the mortification automatically stoked roars of laughter and a flood of my tears. I sailed along on choppy seas, in an ark built from fear of losing my first and only lover, in a refuge from the world around me. It was navigated by an old salt, with the aid of a painful rudder. I watched myself led across the lobby, through the crowds and into a beauty salon.

The room was large, well lit and contained plenty of mirrors. Unfortunately, I could see my reflection from any direction I looked and found that worse then being seen. The room was painted pastel blue and a row of chairs ran along one long wall. Many chairs were occupied by women reading magazines and waiting. All the magazines and newspapers went down, all clipping and yaking stopped, when they got a load of me. I could feel every set of eyes congregating on my most private parts and I continued blushing from head to toe. I flashed like a Christmas tree-full of flickering red bulbs and clamped down on my intruders in frustration. I caught several eyefuls as my collar would allow, but I really didn't care to, at this point. There were several barber chairs, some occupied by ladies having their hair fixed, or what ever it is they do. I was led to a chair and my collar removed. Yes, my guide was very pretty and I wondered why she hadn't taken an interest in me. I then saw a multitude of women staring at me and I let my head drop in disgrace. I've learned to wear the 'embarrassed little boy' look well.

Now that I could see all the eyes looking at me, I wanted my collar back. At least that shielded me some. There were so many eyes from so many directions I felt under siege. The eyes pushed and pulled on me from across the room, yet I couldn't look up at one.

My chair was quite different from the others, and looked more like a chair belonging to a mad scientist then a hair stylist. It wasn't as big or comfortable as the others, but it wasn't dainty. It was constructed of steel, a pair of contoured metal two-by-fours, two metal discs for seats, and four adjustable metal poles. There was one pole in each of the chair's corners, two went straight up and two came off at an angle toward me. The pair of poles that came off at an angle ended with stirrups. The girl with the deep blue eyes helped me onto the chair by grabbing hold of my harness ring and maneuvering me backwards. I landed on the metal discs, which became my seat, and half what I expected. Each piece was barely large enough to support one ass cheek. My spine settled against the chair, formed to the curves of the narrow support and my head dropped over a smooth rolled metal edge. Another lady stepped forward.

The women lifted my arms above me, until my wrists could be attached with leather straps, to the top of poles directly behind and to the sides of me. Then my legs were stretched along the poles that went off at an angle, my heels fit into the stirrups and my ankles strapped down. Each pole was adjusted, bent and made longer and then readjusted, bent and made longer again. Once stretched, my ass cheeks barely tickled the metal discs, my head hung back uselessly, and I was forced to look behind me at the top of a counter. I tried relaxing and floating away, while my body lay splayed for the enjoyment of all around me.

I laid back, listening inattentively to conversations around me. I watched the lady with the deep blue eyes stirring something that was heating in a small cauldron. She turned to me with a pair of scissors and a wicked grin that chased me into a familiar corner. Then she winked, licked her lips and blew me a kiss, a tease I swallowed like a fish. She moved for me. Saliva oozed from the corners of my mouth, ran down the sides of my face, over cheeks and into my ears, which soon filled and made hearing difficult. With scissors in one hand and a big grin, her free hand grabbed a fistful of my hair. It took her less then a minute to hack it all off, a little longer to shave my scalp with a razor and then she went back to her cauldron.

"Now just relax sweet thing, this may sting a little, but I know you can take it. I hear you're a big boy," she said from over her shoulder, with another wink and blown kiss. She turned and applied a thick brush-full of hot wax to my right wrist, slathering down my entire arm without the least concern for my pain. It was the largest brush I had ever seen, almost a mop and the burning pain caused me to scream at the top of my lungs, cramp up and strain against my binds. My screams erupted as gurgles, violent ebullitions. Like tiny volcanoes the corners of my mouth spewed as I pulled and yanked hopelessly at my restraints like a pinned animal. I discovered the waxing worse than I had been led to believe, but I wouldn't hold that against Ms. Handlesmen; how could I. Even after this, I could never lay blame at her feet, for that was my place, at her feet and at her feet is where I longed to be.

"Fran," my tormentor yelled. "Please begin picking off the wax as it dries, while I continue coating its body. Ms. H wants every hair removed, except for eyebrows and lashes." I heard them both laugh at that. "Only heaven knows why she's allowing it to keep its brows and lashes. It would look much better without them."

"Ya' got that right. Sure Barb, no problem, I'd love to," I heard a voice respond. A new face popped into view and its owner began testing the wax, picking at small pieces of it. I twisted to the added discomfort and looked to my tormentor for pity. Barb, the lady who escorted me here, moved around to between my legs. Slap, slap, slap, slap, slap! I closed my eyes and squealed as she wailed against the insides of my thighs. I jerked to every swat and withered erotically. "Be still young man or I'll slap you silly... understand," she hissed in a barrage. I had been crying and salivating for so long by then, my head was dripping wet. I shook my head yes and tried to tell her I understood, but the pain was too great. My words kept erupting from behind my gag as a frothy splattering of bubbles. She then came around to my left arm with another brush-full of hot wax.

I tried desperately to keep still for her and I actually think she appreciated my efforts. Through my tears I saw her smiling down on me while she finished coating the arm.

I was jumping to the removal of the wax from my right arm, as it took my hairs with it, roots and all. Fran, the lady performing that task, took real pleasure in my pain and pulled at the pieces of wax slowly, with the intent of prolonging my agony. By now my spit and tears ran freely down the sides of my face, rinsing each other away in alternating waves that fell like rain to the floor.

Barb was between my legs again, this time slathering the wax onto my chest. The torture forced me back onto the narrow support as far as my restraints would allow. I twisted from side to side, bounced my cheeks up and down on their seats and yanked from all four limbs. My useless efforts earned me several more slaps on my thighs. One of Barbs hands finally wrapped itself around my balls, fingers and thumb meeting in an effort to hold me still. Then she slathered my belly and down my abdomen. She made some comments to Fran as she went to dip her brush again, about how hard I stayed and how cute I looked throbbing from the leather restraints. She returned to lay a brush-full of wax onto my right ankle and slather it over my foot. She moved the brush from my toes to my knees and beyond. By the time her brush reached my waist, she'd coated my entire leg, up to my butt cheek. She turned to her cauldron and then to my other leg.

I, in the meantime, continued unabated, straining and crying uncontrollably as both women performed their functions. I neither saw nor cared about the other women as they came to watch. I could feel them gathered around in small mobs; suited, snobby executives enjoying misery. I couldn't hear anything through flooded ears, or over my own screams, the ones reverberating about in my head, but I sensed the substance of all around me. They thrilled at watching me peeled and skinned alive. Never had I felt such pain and never have I put on such a show. I believed any pain would seem minor after that and that must have been why Ms. Handlesmen put me through it. Was it an hour or two, a day or three, a week, I didn't know or care.

"You've been a good boy so far, don't spoil things now," Barb said over my wailing. After the waxing and rewaxing of some stubborn areas, I found myself turned over by four pair of rough and ready hands and fastened face down on the chair. After minor adjustments I was strapped into place and the waxing of my back began. Again I withered under intense agony and strained till sore. My behind received all the discipline now, which came as several sound spankings.

"Calm down Joey, calm down boy... Everything's fine," Barb was yelling over my shoulder as she continued beating my behind with her open palm, and a leathery palm it was.

After Barb finished with the waxing, she came to stand between my legs again. Again she grabbed my balls in one hand and began spanking me with the other. Whap! Whap! Whap! Whap! Whap! God, she loved to spank me and the results reverberated about the salon. Whap! Whap! Whap! Whap! Whap! It was easy to tell she enjoyed pummeling my behind, by the way she got into it and she continued until she had every sinew in my body stretched taut. I was a canvas drawn skintight for an artist's rendition of suffering or captain's quarter, and I was kept so. As Barb continued, Fran moved along my body, peeling away my hair with the dried wax. Whap! Whap! Whap! Whap! Whap!

I don't know when I'd cried harder or longer. Was spanking a game of competition between women? Now that I was facing down, my ears drained a little and I could see my tears fall from my eyes and splatter about the floor. I was a raging storm, an overfilled thunder cloud suddenly burst open and I soon produced a pool of salt water on the floor below me. Through it all, it was Barb's manipulation of my balls that dominated my mind and kept me humping as if in revelry. That alone helped me tolerate the pains of her spanking and Fran's peeling.

The most wonderful moments came when the ladies worked between my thighs together, on the areas around the contraption I was strapped into. They didn't remove anything, they simply grabbed and manipulated my organ as needed, to suit their purposes and my libido's ferment. The most painfully, pleasurable moment, came when they attacked my balls together. Ohhhh, the sensation of being taken in hand and completely enveloped, is heavenly. They each took one in a strong grip and pulled in their own direction. They lifted me from the chair and held me in the air, even as they continued working.

When they were finally finished, they once again flipped me over, face up and strapped me in place. They slathered my body with a cooling ointment that relieved some of the sting, and then left me to calm down. They braced my head up, so the ladies who passed could see me and I them. Alone, in pairs and groups, the women came and went. I felt like the frog, stretched in the high school students specimen tray, dissected, probed and my parts labeled. I felt like a side show freak that people paid to stare and laugh at and yet, I felt as if I'd finally fit in somewhere.

With the painful oscillations came my newly discovered eroticism. I was dominated by my penis, which enjoyed my discomfort very, very much. It hardened and took its gratification in proportion to my body's humiliation and pain. An odd couple are we. How was it so? In all my years I'd never accepted humiliation and pain to be my weaknesses, but Ms. Monroe must have known. As ever more women came to view me, I let my mind relax and my body become more limp, in hopes of allowing myself to open for their pleasures. I wished to open like an early morning flower awakening to the day's first rays of sunlight. The passing women represented many of the rays emanating from the powerful source under which I was blossoming.